


Five Kisses

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5+1, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Into Darkness, Spock POV, tos episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The five types of kisses Jim gives Spock, and the one type of kiss Spock gives Jim.A 5+1 fic.





	Five Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm home sick so I wanted some fluff and this just...happened. I've never actually written a 5+1 fic and I'd been active on Livejournal years ago and wrote almost every tropey thing but this.
> 
> AoS Spirk dealing with these five ToS Episodes:
> 
> The Menagerie Part 2  
> Operation: Annihilate!!  
> Journey to Babel  
> Amok Time  
> Plato's Stepchildren
> 
> Warnings: for Plato's Stepchildren (kiss #5) it deals with issues of consent and the aftermath of losing free will. Nothing graphic, but there are some feels so take care if that's triggery to you.
> 
> For the sole purpose of the beginning of this fic, Pike doesn't die in Into Darkness, but it's not a big part of the plot. You don't need to know the ToS episodes to enjoy or understand this fic.
> 
> A couple lines of dialogue from each kiss are taken from the episodes themselves.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Spock sinks onto his meditation stone and his eyes close. He’s lulled into a light meditation at the sound of his lover’s breathing—a comfort to him after a day as long as the one they’ve experienced. Even when there is no attempt on their lives, or a threat against the ship, their mission is long, and even surrounded by people, it is lonely.

Spock remains plagued, some days, by the haunting memories of the death of his planet, and the death of his Ashayam—though the latter he recovered, it served only to remind him of Jim’s mortality and vulnerability. The day had been simple enough—they were helping Mr. Scott in engineering when a piece of metal fell from above them and hit Jim above the forehead. He’d lost consciousness for nine point eight seconds, and it was the blood and the dazed look in his eye that reminded Spock far too much of crouching outside of the Warp Core and watching the life leave Jim’s face.

The situation was nothing like that this time, but Spock has long since abandoned trying to apply logic to his illogical fears of losing Jim. He instead soothes himself with Jim’s body, with pressing him into the mattress and taking him apart slowly and carefully until Jim is sated, boneless, whispering words of love into Spock’s skin as he slowly drifts.

It allows Spock to take time to himself then, with Jim still close, still breathing near him. It allows him to carefully kneel on his meditation stone and unpack all the memories he uses to calm himself when things feel as though they are drifting into chaos.

Jim’s kisses are probably his favorite memories to pull to the surface—though having a favorite in itself is illogical. But Jim is well known to Spock through those kisses in ways he doesn’t really have language for. Yet he can see each and everyone in his mind, and each one—whether they are from moments pleasant or unpleasant—can comfort him in a way little else does. They have a type, a category in Spock’s mind where they have been carefully organized and collected, and he can pull each one to examine, when he is in need of them.

_1\. Anger Kisses_

Spock doesn’t love angry kisses as much as the others, but it still comes to the forefront when he begins to unpack those small boxes that are Jim Kirk. The angry kisses, borne out of a passion that Jim’s humanity can’t control, and Spock drinks in as much as he knows he should discourage such behaviors.

There have been many, but it’s the first Spock likes to think about. The first—maybe not the angriest, but it was the one which closed the distance between them they’d been carefully holding since Jim’s body breathed life again after Khan.

And the moment, in a way, was perhaps hypocritical. How often Jim had defied orders and risked his captaincy and reputation in order to save the life of someone he cared about. He had nearly lost himself the Enterprise when he’d broken the Prime Directive to save Spock’s life, and now he was standing in front of Spock with his fists clenched and his jaw set tight, and passion making his blue eyes almost too bright to look at. And in truth, Jim likely knew he couldn’t argue with Spock because he would have done the same for Pike, if he’d been privy to the information first.

“Mr. Spock, even if regulations are explicit, you could have come to me and explained.” His voice was tight, frustrated, the pair of them still shaken by the threat of a lifetime prison sentence for not just Spock, but for the Captain as well.

Spock held Jim’s gaze, held his composure because what else could he do. “And ask you to face a life-sentence too? One of us was enough, Captain. And you know as well as I do, that being in my position, I am far more expendable than you.” And Spock would never pretend he didn’t know what he was doing, because there was no point in pretending he wasn’t trying to goad Jim into rage, into falling head first into a dizzy, emotional spiral.

Facing the truth of the situation, knowing he was risking his life and his place on the Enterprise was worth it—for Pike, it was worth it—but he had to acknowledge the pain he was causing Jim by doing so. Mostly because he understood exactly what being on the other side of the conversation would feel like.

And Spock’s goading worked. He watched Jim’s face turn splotchy, watched his pupils dilate and his hands clench and unclench, and a tremor run through him of sheer, unbridled rage. “You think…” The fury was working on his ability to form sentences, and Spock was certain if Jim punched him, it would only be well deserved. He stalked forward, and Spock allowed himself to be crowded back against the wall. “The very notion that you think you are expendable at all…”

“Something which you forget,” Spock said, “which is not a good trait for a Captain of a starship.”

He watched Jim’s face go from splotchy to solid red. Jim’s hands came up, clenched into fists, uncurling just enough that Spock thought maybe Jim would try and choke him.

Instead, one curled into the front of Spock’s shirt, the other securing itself around the back of his neck, and Jim gave a tug so hard, their noses bashed together. Spock was certain it hurt Jim more than himself, but he did not fight back. Not when Jim’s hand moved to cup his cheek, when his thumb brushed the side of his mouth, or his fingers trailed up to his too-sensitive psi-points.

“No one can fill me with such frustration—such rage—the way you can, Spock.”

“I am sorry…Jim.”

Jim’s laugh was high, tight, furious but wanting, and Spock couldn’t begin to deny what was between them, even if he’d wanted to. And he did not. Not this time. There was a pause so thick, Spock swore for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Then he lifted his hands and laid them feather-light on Jim’s hips. He felt his captain jerk under his touch, and saw the way Jim’s mouth tightened just a fraction.

“I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you, you stupid _ass_.”

“If my opinion may be weighed in consideration, Jim,” Spock said, knowing he was pushing his luck, “then I would prefer the latter option.”

Jim rolled his eyes, then his head along with it, groaning loud before shoving his nose right up alongside Spock’s. “You would fucking tell me the way you wanted to kiss me was like this, Spock. Jesus I…” But there were no more words. Just Jim’s lips on his, pressing almost desperate, still angry, still _furious_ , in fact, but also there. His grip was iron-tight on Spock’s shoulder, and he didn’t let go for a long, long time.

_2\. Relief Kisses_

Spock would, perhaps, consider the kisses borne of sheer and utter, bone-deep relief to be some of his favorite if they didn’t accompany situations in which his life or livelihood were at stake. It was, in fact, the former that was easier to handle, because Spock had spent most of his life with an uncertainty about who he was and where he belonged until he reached the Enterprise, until he had tasted Jim’s lips, and had him raw, naked, groaning beneath him. It was the latter that terrified him—because without this ship, this crew, this captain, he felt adrift in a sea of nothingness.

Which was what made Deneva the most terrifying experience in his life, and why those kisses raining on him were ones Spock would never forget.

The creatures were horrifying, and the pain was beyond anything he could truly comprehend. Even the subsequent blindness in a way didn’t terrifying him as much as what it possibly meant for him. The loss of his position, of everything he had come to know, and the idea that Jim might actually follow him should he be forced to retire.

The thought of adapting to his disability and perhaps starting a career teaching once again at the Academy wasn’t as crushing as he thought it might be, though the loneliness of it at certain moments threatened to choke him as he sat there in the unending darkness. But it was losing himself to it, losing Jim, or worse, allowing Jim to give this all up and become less than a shadow of himself only to make Spock happy that shook him in a way he never thought possible.

As he sat, his own words echoed in his head. “…I am also, quite blind. An equitable trade, doctor. The pain is gone.”

Then the truth had come out—the moments which Spock had not been willing to risk before allowing McCoy to lock him in the chamber had only proved his condition was unnecessary. And the sound of Jim’s voice, the sheer pain and fear lurking in his tone, had overwhelmed him.

“Are you telling me Spock…are you telling me he didn’t need to be blinded?”

There was a pause, and Spock could only imagine what McCoy’s face looked like before he confessed, “I didn’t need to throw the white light at all. Spock, I…”

“Doctor, it was my choice as well.”

“Spock,” Jim said, and his hand fell on Spock’s shoulder, holding almost too-tight.

Spock, unable to help himself, a little desperate for comfort in spite of who might be watching, reached up and closed his fingers over Jim’s. “Kaiidith.”

“No,” Jim started, but Spock squeezed harder and he stopped.

“What is, is. There is no changing the outcome now.”

And it was, except then when he began to see flashes, and then shapes, then movement. He let McCoy crowd him onto a bed, to prod at him and declare that it was the inner eyelid that he paid very little attention to, which had saved his sight.

Four hours passed before McCoy freed him from sickbay, and accompanied him to the Bridge to prevent incident which was, in his own mind, entirely unnecessary. But Spock understood humans enough to understand guilt, and the way it could linger even after a situation had resolved itself.

There was no small measure of joy he kept quietly within himself at both the sight of Jim, and the sight of his sheer relief. It was clear to everyone how he held himself restrained, allowing Spock the normalcy of returning to his station, and Spock knew to anticipate a very emotional reaction when Alpha shift ended.

He was not disappointed in his calculations.

Spock was dismissed first, and he knew Jim would be only moments behind. He took the opportunity to center himself as best as he could, from the stress of pain and from the hours of blindness, and had only reached a light meditative state when the doors slid open.

Spock had little time to prepare himself before he was knocked sideways onto the bed, Jim’s arms bracketing his head, kisses raining down on his face as though Jim couldn’t stop himself. They slowed eventually, to a soft, sensual thing as Jim’s hands found his, squeezing. When they finally pulled apart, Jim’s finger reached up, gently brushing along Spock’s lashes, over his lids, unable to stop staring.

“We would have worked it out,” he promised.

Spock felt that uncomfortable twist in his chest again, because he knew this. He was aware of every possibility, and profoundly aware of the likelihood of their relationship eventually crumbling to dust when either distance or resentment settled in. But the matter was resolved—the outcomes avoided thanks to his Vulcan biology.

He allowed Jim to express his relief, however, putting no stop to the insistent hands, and the pressing kisses, and gentle sighs which soothed every last one of Spock’s frayed nerves.

_3\. Vulcan Kisses_

It wasn’t as if Spock intentionally kept pieces of Vulcan culture from Jim—it was simply that it meant very little to a human, and Spock didn’t see the logic in sharing something Jim could not fully understand. He had not considered that Jim would want to participate in such things to make him happy.

In the moment, as Sarek boarded the Enterprise on the way to Babel, Spock had not considered much of anything at all, overwhelmed by a rush of pain he had not anticipated when Sarek presented his new wife. Perhaps it was that he had moved on so quickly from Amanda, though it was logical that he would. The Vulcans were now an endangered species, and Sarek was far from the age where he would not be able to procreate. But perhaps it was that Sarek had chosen another human woman to take as a spouse that threw him, as Spock was well aware the struggles in his own conception, and was well aware he was the only hybrid to survive. Therefore there was no logic in the union. Sarek was well acquainted with human customs by now, and it served no other purpose other than to warm his bed.

Jim sensed the tension, but was still ever the diplomat and quickly began speaking to allow Spock time to compose himself. Spock understood that he was at risk of becoming emotionally compromised when faced with the lingering death of his mother, but he had not anticipated the rage and pain rising in him when Sarek lifted his fingers, and his new wife had pressed her own to them in ozh’esta.

Spock only became aware of himself at the loud crack when the tricorder he’d been holding snapped. He glanced up at his father, not brave enough to face the look on Jim’s face, and he saw only resignation and disappointment there. For all that they had come together over the deaths of so many, and one they both shared the love of deeply, there would always remain a chasm between them.

“Spock, why don’t you…” Jim began.

“Captain, I believe there is something that needs my attention,” Spock said, knowing it was damn-near insubordination to speak over his commanding officer like that.

But Jim understood him better than anyone, and merely nodded. “Exactly what I was going to remind you about, Commander. I will see you at the end of Beta shift.”

Spock nodded, then hurried off and knew perfectly well that he was not on Beta shift, and that Jim would see him once the Vulcan delegation was settled, and Jim was free to return to their quarters. It would be a while, which Spock appreciated, because it would give him time to meditate.

Exactly three point six hours later, Spock roused from deep inside of his mind at the sound of the door sliding open and shut again. He did not move, but instead listened to the heavy, familiar sound of Jim’s feet padding across the room. Even without paying attention, he knew Jim’s routine. His boots were first to go, lined up against Spock’s near the bedroom door. Next was the uniform, and to replace it, a black under shirt and pair of sweats. The increased heat for Spock left Jim preferring to be barefoot most nights, and illogically, Spock found himself taken with the shape of Jim’s feet, and the curl of his small toes.

Where Jim would normally either work on something left on his PADD, or possibly attempt to be as irritating as possible to rouse Spock from his mediation, now Jim walked with care, sitting near, but not close enough to touch.

Spock deepened his breath and spoke without opening his eyes. “I am aware of your presence, ashayam.”

Jim let out a tiny puff of air. “Are you okay?”

“I am well.” Spock finally opened his eyes and glanced over to see Jim perched on the edge of their bed, hands hanging between his spread legs. Spock turned to face him, though he didn’t move from the stone.

“You weren’t okay earlier.”

Spock nodded just once, and kept his gaze on the floor. Though Jim had never judged him for his emotions, they evoked shame in his lack of control since the destruction of Vulcan. “To see my father remarried was…unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Jim said slowly, “I kind of got that. I mean, I figured you would have told me if you knew about it. Kind of a dick move.”

Spock huffed, then pushed himself to stand. He shed his outer meditation robe, and enjoyed the brief coolness of air on his skin. Walking with slow, deliberate steps, he sank next to his t’hy’la and clasped his hands in a steepled position of thought. “I had assumed my father would initiate a bond, as he will need to be prepared for his next…Time. And it was only logical that as my father is of child-bearing age, he would contribute to the repopulation of our species.”

Jim nodded, pulling a face a little because it wasn’t too long ago that Sarek was insisting Spock go through another round of fertility testing just to be sure he couldn’t procreate. It was only after Dr. M’Benga stepped in to put a stop to the unnecessary testing that Sarek let it go. Spock had been shaken, and once-again questioning his worth to his people, and it had taken Jim several days to get through the wall he erected between himself and his emotions.

“He’s being kind of a hypocrite, basically,” Jim stated.

“I…believe that is an apt term,” Spock replied quietly.

Jim reached out, hesitated, then dropped his hand lightly on Spock’s thigh, squeezing. The touch-comfort was most welcome. “I mean, he can’t like get her pregnant, right?”

“The chances of a successful copulation between himself and a human woman are point zero-zero-seven-two percent. And the chances of the embryo surviving into viability are point zero-zero-zero-six-three percent. The chances of the infant surviving past ten days are…”

“I get it,” Jim said quietly, and Spock stopped calculating. “It’s a dick move for him to put you through all those stupid tests when you both knew perfectly well you couldn’t help out. And then he goes and marries someone he can’t have kids with, and…so soon.”

Spock couldn’t help his wince, and felt a surge of frustration that his meditation had not succeeded in controlling his outward reactions.

“It’s okay,” Jim said, and shifted closer, resting his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to be pissed off. There’s no rulebook for how to grieve and he’s put you through enough, you know? You’re allowed to be pissed off that he went and grabbed another human woman to throw in your mom’s place, and then to be a huge asshole about repopulating…”

Spock swallowed. “It is possible there are factors I am not aware of.” He could not conceive of them now, but he could not discount the possibility that the marriage was logical.

“Yeah well…we can just call him an asshole for now, and we can change our minds if the situation warrants it,” Jim said, and grinned, turning his face up to press a soft kiss to Spock’s jaw.

Spock leaned into the touch, and the two of them sat for some time. 

Then, in a voice quieter than usual, Jim’s voice broke the silence. “Can I ask you a question about something he did?”

Spock frowned. “You may ask me anything, ashaya.”

Jim sat up, leaning away carefully as he held up a fist. He extended his first and middle finger, and it became clear what he was wondering. “I’ve seen this before, but I never really thought much about it. What is that?”

“It is…a gesture of affection between bondmates,” Spock said, though such simple terms did not fully encompass what the ozh’esta truly was between couples. Spock could not deny his occasional desire to press his fingers to Jim’s. Jim was his t’hy’la, and it was only natural for him to want it. But it would have been one-sided. Spock had never fully understood why his father had asked it so often of his mother, and it seemed the tradition carried on to his new mate.

“So…like a kiss?” Jim said.

Spock nodded. “That is one comparison, yes. As we are touch-telepaths, we carry psi-points in both our hands and in our heads. Vulcan hands, as you know, are sensitive and it is a way of connecting, of feeling the bond between bondmates.”

Jim frowned. “Why don’t we ever…”

“Because you are human, Jim,” Spock said simply. “It would be illogical.”

Jim shook his head. “You want to. I can see it in your face, and your dad did it today. I’m guessing he did it with your mom, too.”

Spock nodded again. “This is true, but I have always found my mother’s indulgence of him illogical. There would be no benefit for you…”

“Except making you happy,” Jim pointed out, turning to face him fully. “Except compromising because yeah Spock, I’m human, but you’re not and you don’t have to do everything the human way just because I might not ever be able to fully understand what this means.” Jim held his hand up higher, almost daring, and Spock’s fingers tingled with the desire to touch him there. “Why don’t we try it. And if it’s weird or terrible, we don’t have to ever again.”

“That seems…a logical experiment,” Spock said, and though he wanted this so much he could nearly taste it, he was afraid, too. Afraid it would feel empty and hollow, afraid that it would damage something between them. But Spock could not deny Jim anything, especially when his eyes were like this—soft and open and willing to give and give and give.

Spock swallowed, then carefully lifted his hand, curling his thumb, ring finger, and pinky into his palm. He pressed his first and middle fingers together, then slowly—carefully—pressed them to Jim’s. He felt it, the pulse of their bond, the measure of their love humming just under the skin. On instinct he dragged his fingers down, curling around the back of Jim’s hand to press there, and it was only then he realized Jim was breathing heavy.

“I felt that. Should I…am I supposed to _feel_ that?” Jim asked, his voice slightly pitched with wonder and maybe a little fear.

Spock swallowed thickly. “I…do not know.”

“Do it again,” Jim demanded.

Spock complied—what choice did he have. He pushed his fingers back against Jim’s and he could feel their bond throbbing between them, reaching between them, growing stronger, brighter. He could see Jim’s cheeks flushing, could see his eyes widen a fraction.

It wasn’t long before they abandoned the ozh’esta in favor of grasping at each other, of taking human kisses, of taking each other in their hands and bringing them up, and closer, and over the edge of their passion, both whispering each other’s names into flushed skin.

When it was over, Jim sprawled half on Spock’s chest, he brought his hand up again. Spock had no hesitation when he complied, and this time the buzz between them was low and content. Spock regretted denying himself all this time, but he would do so no longer.

“I am pleased my hypothesis that this would mean nothing to you was incorrect,” he murmured, pushing his nose into the softness of Jim’s light hair.

Jim dragged his fingers down Spock’s, around to the back of his wrist the way Spock had done earlier, and a surge of Jim’s love pushed into him. “Me too.” He turned his face up to kiss Spock the human way before murmuring against his lips, “Vulcan kisses are awesome.”

“Indeed,” was all Spock was capable of saying right then.

_4\. Passion Kisses_

From the human meaning of passion, these kisses would not be difficult to look back upon. He would simply close his eyes and see all those moments when he is unable to control his desire to put his hands and mouth all over Jim. When his t’hy’la is being clever, when he beats Spock at chess, when he works together a diplomatic treaty where all other Starship Captains have failed. When Jim looks at Spock with so much love in his eyes that Spock can reach through their bond and touch the feeling, confirm it’s true. 

Those moments, by human standards, are passion.

But they are not, by nature, the same as Vulcan passion. Vulcan passion is raw, it is unrestrained and needy. It is jealous and territorial and destructive. Spock had hoped he would not be subjected to such a thing, had hoped that the sheer anomaly of his existence alone would spare him.

And then his hands began to shake, and his logic began to fail him, and it was only when he was throwing Christine from his chambers that it became apparent that the Time had come upon him. Jim had become aware of pon farr on his own—through the meld of Spock’s counterpart which was a gross violation in Spock’s eyes, but the benefit was that Jim was somewhat better prepared for certain moments in the future than he would have been otherwise.

Spock knew perfectly well he had no intention of telling Jim about pon farr until it was absolutely necessary. But Jim saw the signs, and quietly cornered Spock in their quarters. “We don’t need to travel to Vulcan, do we? T’Pring…”

Spock merely shook his head, not willing to acknowledge the bond severed by death which was still healing even after these few years with his t’hy’la. Spock had been given the story later—of how his counterpart had been challeneged, how his bondmate had nearly forced Spock to kill Jim. Spock couldn’t fathom such a thing, and though it had been far too many years since he and T’Pring had spoken, he could not imagine allowing her to set Spock up to kill his most beloved.

But none of that mattered.

Spock’s pon farr had come—they were lightyears away from New Vulcan, and copulating on the sands of the planet which still felt foreign would do him no favors. His home was here, his bond was present, and all Spock could do was make preparations as best he could, and beg forgiveness for whatever harm might come to Jim in the aftermath.

Spock’s memory was fading, but he let himself an illogical indulgence of wishing that Jim would be spared the violence he had known himself capable of. He had hurt Jim enough in the past, and he did not wish their future to be tainted. But instinct was winning, and he could _smell_ Jim, and the scent of his beloved was heating the fires inside of him, pushing him dangerously toward the plak tow. With madness tugging at the corners of his minds, his unkind, uncoordinated fingers tugged at Jim, ripping at fabric until he could get to skin.

He felt the heat of his lover, felt the strength of his want by way of hardness against his thigh. And Spock knew he was only moments from losing all sense of reality and claiming and claiming until the fever passed by.

However, it did not begin there. It began with a sudden and unexpected moment of clarity. A moment of love and acceptance and support pushed through their bond that cleared the fog from his eyes. So much so that Spock’s hands ceased shaking, only for that moment. And even though his own passion gripped him, he was able to take that moment, to cradle Jim’s face between his hands. He could not speak, but Jim’s eyes shone with understanding, with willingness to endure this with him. Spock could not stop himself in that moment, and he leaned in, kissing Jim in a claiming, passionate kiss. His tongue tasted every inch of Jim’s mouth, his hands digging into soft flesh, not enough to bruise, but only barely. And Jim must have felt it through the bond, Spock’s fear of hurting him, coupled with his need to take, and to have, and a warm palm against his cheek sent Spock reeling back.

“I know,” Jim murmured. “I know, and it’s okay. I’m here with you, and I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.”

It was the last thing Spock recalled before pon farr took him.

When Spock woke from the madness, he found himself curled around Jim’s back. The human’s body was covered in sweat and semen, fingerprint bruises dotting his skin, a bitemark against the side of his neck that looked like it had been claimed by Vulcan teeth more than once. But his breathing was even, and his temperature was only slightly elevated from the heat in Spock’s room.

Spock made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat, and Jim snapped awake, turning in Spock’s arms. There was a measure of relief in his eyes as he saw the madness gone from Spock’s own, and he lifted a tentative hand to Spock’s face, cradling it gently. “Are you okay?”

“It is I who should be requiring your state of wellbeing, Jim,” he managed to get out, though speaking felt like breathing through razor blades.

Jim pressed a finger to Spock’s lips, shaking his head gently. “We endured together, and we both came out just fine. Now let’s sleep a little more, then we can eat and shower, yeah?”

Spock licked his lips, his tongue rough and dry, and he nodded. Before Jim could turn back away, however, Spock felt the last remnants of the burning passion under his skin, and he reached out to stop his t’hy’la from resuming his previous position. “I…might I kiss you?” It was the first time he’d asked in three days.

Jim’s eyes were bright with love and affection, and though he didn’t answer, he curled his fingers around Spock’s wrist, and pushed his face in. Spock let out a sigh of satisfaction, and let the last of his passion fizzle, and burn out with the gentle, careful press of lips.

 

_5\. Controlled Kisses_

 

The final kiss Spock ever really examines is the first kiss after losing absolute and utter control to the Platonians. A mission which had gone wrong from the moment they set foot on the planet, and Spock could not have conceived of the utter torture they would be put under which was far worse than he had ever experienced.

He was stripped of all control, of all free-will, forced to attack those he cared for most. His emotions had been ripped from him in a vulgar display for all those watching, and he had been forced to sit and witness the debasement and utter humiliation of his captain simply to amuse the Platonians.

Never in his life had Spock felt such rage. Never in his life, not even when Jim had been baiting him about his mother’s death, had Spock felt so close to losing control. It would serve no purpose to do so, and it was with only a thread of self-restraint left he was able to address it to Jim and McCoy.

“I might have seriously injured you, Jim, even…even killed you,” it startled him at just how difficult admitting that aloud was, because they all knew that if the Platonians had wanted it, Spock would have had no power against them to stop himself. “They have evoked such great…hatred in me. I cannot allow it to go further.” He let the silence after his words speak the rest of his meaning.

If he did not control it, the moment he had the upper hand, there would be nothing of the Platonians left to carry on their race.

Jim let it go then, as did McCoy, but Spock could see Jim’s resolve slipping when the Platonians stole Christine and Nyota from the ship. When Jim and Spock were force to hold them, to listen to the fear in their shaking voices, to see the terror in their eyes when they were threatened, and the realization they had that Spock and Jim had no power…

Spock would likely never be able to speak aloud his profound gratitude for McCoy’s genius and his quick thinking. The simple fact that he was allowed them to consume what they needed in order to make themselves more powerful than Parmen. When it was over, Spock wondered just how much control it took for Jim to allow him to remain free, to not exact a revenge Spock himself was craving.

Spock was not sure what Jim needed after they beamed aboard the ship—only that he went straight to the bridge to finish the rest of his ship, though he ordered Nyota, Christine, and Spock three days leave to recover. Spock thought to argue, but in this moment he understood Jim needed that control and command of his crew—the people he had fought so desperately to protect—and had failed.

So Spock merely nodded his acquiescence to the order, and made his way to their quarters. He used the water shower to remove what remnants of the planet remained on him, and as an illogical moment of comfort, he slipped into a t-shirt and sweats belonging to Jim. The smell of his t’hy’la was a comfort as he seated himself on the floor to begin meditation.

Alpha shift finished, and Beta shift began, and still no Jim.

Spock considered searching him out, but instead made his way to the mess for food, and then to the observation deck to allow himself a moment of indulgence in watching the deep space disappear behind them.

That was where Jim found him, at the start of Gamma. He closed off the doors with the Captain’s code, and without saying a word, moved right into Spock’s space. He was welcomed instantly, Spock’s arms only barely restraining his full strength as he held Jim tight to him.

After what felt like an eternity in that embrace, Jim lifted up to his knees, straddling Spock on the couch and taking Spock’s face between his palms. “I need to kiss you. I need to kiss you, I need you to make love to me, I need to be held. I need to know you want those things too. Please…t’hy’la please…”

Spock could barely form words other than a soft, grunted yes as he parted his lips and let Jim’s tongue push inside against his own. The kiss was drawn out, purposeful, attempting to erase what they had experienced although they both knew nothing else ever could. But taking control again was the only thing that would spare them the madness of regret and the crushing feeling of powerlessness. So Spock let Jim take as fervently as he gave, and he did not allow his brain to keep aware of how much time was passing, or how tightly Jim was gripping him, or calculate the probability of what would come next.

He simply existed in the moment, he simply allowed himself to regain the control he’d lost until he felt right again.

Jim finally broke away with a series of soft, pecking kisses across Spock’s mouth. His breathing was labored and heavy, and he pushed his face into Spock’s neck. “I don’t ever want to go back there again.”

“I believe your sentiment is shared by more than one person aboard this ship, Jim,” Spock said, and let his fingers card through Jim’s hair. “And I believe that when your log is reported, Starfleet will endeavor to keep others away from that planet, so the experience will not repeat itself.”

Jim shuddered. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

In truth, Spock was most probably not correct. The probability of Starfleet wishing to attempt a treaty with the Platonians was at seventy-six point three percent, as their planet had much to offer, and the ability to develop such powers would be far too tempting for Starfleet to pass up. But he would not say such things to Jim. Not now. Not after that.

He would only vow, quietly and to himself, to ensure Jim never experienced such torture again. 

Jim lifted his head after a moment, and gently touched Spock’s chin. “You know I love you, right?”

Spock nodded, then leaned in and kissed Jim once more. “My regard for you, ashayam, is without measure.”

Jim sighed gently, and allowed himself to sink into Spock’s warm arms. Exactly where he belonged.

_+1. Spock’s Kisses_

Spock rouses from his mediation when Jim begins to stir, and his heart is beating quickly just below his lungs. Spock can feel Jim’s rise to consciousness, and he’s overwhelmed by the sensation of it, and the want in his own body to be near the one he holds most precious.

He does not think, does not consider as he rises and moves to the bed, kneeling there and hovering as Jim’s eyes come to a soft open. Spock feels a rush through him as Jim’s mouth curves into a smile so easy—so easy that at times Spock is envious of it. Jim stretches above his head, his muscles bunching and flexing, his eyes squeezing shut as he tenses and releases.

Spock cannot stop himself now—cannot stop the impulse as he reaches down and delivers what he knows to be Jim’s favorite kiss. The kiss of a man so in love, that even the most strict, stoic control over his emotions cannot mask it. His hand reaches Jim’s psi-points to accompany his lips, and love is pushed into the bond, leaving Jim sighing softly against Spock’s mouth.

Arms eventually come around Spock’s waist, pulling him down to his side so they can nestle together in their shared bed, taking these shared moments between them that will eventually end. But that ending will only serve to open another path to a future that Spock cannot know for certain, but he is aware of one, single thing:

These kisses, this love between them, will be endless. His katra will live on in Jim as Jim’s does in himself. There is no ending between them, only moments into the future.

Jim hums his agreement to these unspoken thoughts, and turns his head, pressing his lips to Spock’s shoulder. Spock, in turn, moves so he can capture Jim’s mouth slow and lazy, nuzzling together because for now, in these quiet moments of endless space, they have time.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note, I use a braille display at home which is not helpful when checking how a fic is laid out, and usually my gf checks my formatting, but she's on vacation to see her parents for the next two weeks. I think it's okay, but if the formatting is messed up, please feel free to let me know in the comments so I can try to fix it! Thanks!


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